One Hundred Feathers
by Aroihkin
Summary: 100 drabbles revolving around the Mage Wars trilogy, primarily the Black Gryphon. Amberdrake, Urtho, Skandranon, Gesten, Silver Veil, etcetera... whoever I decide to write in whatever part of the timeline I decide to write them, in answer to the prompts.


Individual short stories! My responses to the 100 themes given by the FanFic100 LJ Comm, for 'The Mage Wars Trilogy: General Series'. Legal: I don't own Mage Wars, but if it's in my story and isn't in the books, it's mine. Reviews & concrit make me happy, and happy is good.

**Title:** Brothers by Sorrow  
**Fandom:** The Mage Wars trilogy, by Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon  
**Characters:** Amberdrake, Urtho, Skandranon  
**Prompt:** Beginnings -- 001  
**Word Count:** 1,000  
**Rating:** General  
**Summary:** All of the people who Amberdrake had met in his life, who stuck with him, he had known first as a kestra'chern.  
**Table/Progress:** 1/100

Urtho's summons had come unexpectedly.

The Mage of Silence never summoned him for his own sake; it was always for someone else -- someone high-ranking enough to have their reputation damaged if they were seen walking into or out of Amberdrake's work-tent. Urtho himself would stroll in whenever he wished to talk, always somehow managing to do so in the empty spaces between the kestra'chern's appointments... but then, he was the lord of this place.

If anyone should think less of him for conversing with Drake, they were -- in Urtho's own words -- more than welcome to do so. The grey-haired Mage had nothing more to prove to any of them; it was obvious that he saw value in the kestra'chern profession, having made them an official part of his army as he had. So why shouldn't he visit one, if it suited him to do so?

But to the best of Amberdrake's knowledge, nothing particularly dramatic had happened to any of the Archmage's Generals or other high-ranking staff who lived in the Tower. No territory had been lost or gained, for that matter in a week, no surprise new weapons or devastating attacks had come or gone. Of course, a problem didn't necessarily have to do with the War's ravaging hunger, nor did Drake necessarily know if anything _had_ happened in that regard.

He smiled at Urtho's messenger, said that he was on his way, and went to inform Gesten.

The messenger didn't wait for him, of course, and Amberdrake didn't follow. He took his own paths through the war-camp; behind tents and such -- a more direct route than even the orderly, fairly-straight 'roads' that went through it. Not so much for geographical reasons, but because this way he didn't get stopped halfway between here and there for one reason or another, and have to waste time extracting himself from whatever situation was happening at that very moment.

Because there was _always_ something, when he was trying to get somewhere.

Amberdrake arrived at the Tower, and the guards there didn't even hesitate. One stepped forward, nodded, and then led him into the structure and up the stairs. And up, and up, and up... _We're heading for Urtho's personal quarters, aren't we? Why?_ Drake thought, and climbed behind the uniformed soldier, his own footsteps automatically silent against the worn, well-fitted stonework.

And that was indeed where they were when the guard stopped on a particular landing, and knocked softly on the door. Amberdrake spared a single, fleeting moment, to wonder if perhaps the Mage _had_ summoned him here for his own sake. And why he would suddenly require them to be in his territory for their little talks...

But while Urtho was indeed the one who opened the door; the anguish and sorrow and self-recrimination that suddenly hammered at Amberdrake's shields did _not_ come from the Mage of Silence. It came from beyond, from another _room_ beyond; through an open doorway that the Healer knew to be Urtho's bedchamber. And he only knew that, of course, because he could see the corner of the bed from here, if little else in that curtained, darkened room.

Urtho gave him a soft, somewhat strained smile, and beckoned Amberdrake in. The guard shut the door behind him. The Mage's words to the kestra'chern were quiet and somewhat strained; terse and sparing. A name, and what he thought had happened.

"Do anything you can for him." said the grey-haired Archmage, after those few bits of information. He lead Drake to that darkened room with the drawn, dark curtains, and Amberdrake went in. This time, it was _Urtho_ who shut the door behind him.

His eyes took in the slight movement of the curtains first; the doors to the balcony beyond them must have been open, because he could feel a slight, cool breeze from their direction. It took him a few more moments to adjust well enough to see the giant, black form on the floor -- the source of the dark, knotted emotions... of which he was doing a very good job at _not_ reacting adversely to.

Drake approached quietly, but purposefully made his footsteps audible on the stonework floor. He knelt down next to the gryphon, taking in the way the giant warrior had curled himself up as small as he could. The giant head with its similarly-giant beak was tucked firmly under a wing, and the whole body _trembled_. Slowly, carefully, he lowered his shields just a little bit, taking in the depths of anguish and self-recrimination and anger, and above all... that horrible sorrow.

This gryphon, this proud and fearsome creature, was falling apart. His wing-mates had been flayed to the bones -- enough to kill, all by itself, but agonizingly so -- by Ma'ar's magics. This gryphon was a master mage, and had tried to counter-spell... but to no avail. How he had himself survived, was unknown. All that Amberdrake knew was that he'd made it back to report to Urtho and had collapsed into this state shortly after, not even having the time to go back to his own lair first.

And that, was why he was here. Urtho knew when he was out of his depth, even with his own creations, and he knew that Amberdrake was both trustworthy and competent.

Drake reached out with a soothing hand, and placed it on the gryphon's feathered neck. The muscles beneath continued to shake, but there was an awareness there as well. The gryphon, who the Healer had never before met, was listening even as he grieved. That was, at least, a good sign among so many bad.

"Skandranon Rashkae," he spoke quietly, in a clear but gentle voice, "my name is Amberdrake k'Leshya, and I am now your kestra'chern."


End file.
